Nothing Beats Chocolate Cake

"I have to win this contest."

The seventeen-year old rummaged through a pile of well-worn cookbooks, frantically searching for a cake recipe to help her win next weeks’ cake baking contest at Cal Expo. Charity Bowman had been dreaming of becoming a pastry chef since she was young but didn’t have the means to pay for culinary school. She lived with her grandma, who was a woman of humble means and Charity knew she would need more than the measly savings from her after-school bakery job to fulfill her dream. The contest paid $25,000 to the winner, which would cover the majority of her tuition at her dream school, the Culinary Institute of America.

“Pound cake, vanilla cake, lemon cake,” she flew through the dessert section of her Betty Crocker cookbook. The cookbook had been handed down through the generations and after Mom died suddenly, it was handed down to Charity. She slammed the book shut. “None of these are good enough. What am I going to do?” Moments like these made her wish Mom was still alive. Think, Charity; what would Mom say?

Suddenly, it came to her and Mom’s voice echoed in her mind, ‘Nothing beats chocolate cake.’ That’s it! Charity picked up the cookbook again and turned to the Chocolate Chiffon recipe. She ran her finger along Mom’s handwritten notes in the margin. Chocolate Chiffon cake was Mom’s favorite cake to bake, and she’d taught her how when she was just a little girl. Thanks, Mom. Leaving the other cookbooks sprawled on the kitchen table, she rushed to preheat the oven. I’ve got to practice before the contest. “Grandma,” she called to the other room. “I hope you’re hungry for chocolate cake, because that’s all we’re going to be eating this week!

***

The day of the contest, her stomach was in knots and her mind was racing. Flour, eggs, cocoa, oil…The ingredients list, process, and time needed for each step were speeding around her brain as she set up her station among the over fifty other contestants. Focus, Charity. You can do this.

As the contest charged on, she became more and more confident. This was the perfect recipe. Chocolate Chiffon cake was a moist, deliciously light cake that was always a crowd pleaser when Mom made it. But would it be enough to win? She popped the cake in the oven and started working on the frosting.

“Go, Charity!” Grandma cheered her on from the family seating area. “You can do it!”

Ding! Thirty-five minutes later, the oven timer went off and she held her breath as she carefully pulled out the cake. Perfect. She let out a sigh of relief and smiled, giving Grandma two-thumbs up. After placing the cake on a cooling rack, she tasted the frosting. Something was missing. What could it be? Powdered sugar, shortening, butter, vanilla, and milk. Everything was right but it was missing Mom’s special flavor. Charity paced the floor, trying to think of it. Should she add more sugar? More vanilla? Nutmeg, maybe? No, that wasn’t it.

  Stirring the frosting again, she was taken back to a memory with Mom. She could almost smell her, it felt so real.

“Here it is: the secret ingredient,” Mom whispered. “But first, raise your spatula and repeat after me. I, Charity Marie Bowman, promise to never share this secret ingredient with anyone, ever.”

She laughed and repeated Mom’s words.

“Now, close your eyes.”

Charity closed her eyes while she remembered the moment. It was so clear, like it was happening right in front of her. Mom put a pinch of something in her hand. “Open your eyes,” Mom sprinkled a little flour over her like pixie dust. “Voilà! Behold, Saffron.”

The memory faded and Charity opened her eyes with a start. Hurrying to the spice area, she looked for the ingredient. Those tiny red string-like pieces were just what she needed to create that special flavor to sweeten up the frosting. Pumpkin Spice, Nutmeg, All Spice, Saffron! There it is! She grabbed the tiny bottle, ran back to her station, and added a pinch to the frosting. Stirring like mad, she mixed the frosting and smoothed it onto the cake.

  Charity snuck a peek at the other contestants. Most were finished already and were standing around chatting. Almost done. Last little bit. There was a buzz in the air as the clock ticked down. Three, two, one…Done!

  “Spatulas up!” the announcer’s shout filled the room. This was it. The tasting began with three judges going around to each station’s serving table, tasting each of the cakes in the contest. Her whole body was shivering. Charity rubbed her arms, trying to calm herself. Deep breaths. Here they come.

“And what do we have here?” the male judge asked as he looked over the cake.

  She stood up straight and clasped her hands together. “This is my mother’s recipe. It’s a Chocolate Chiffon cake. The frosting is vanilla but has an added secret ingredient.”

  “Impressive,” said the second judge. “Your bio here says you are only seventeen. You are by far the youngest contestant we have today.”

“Well, Sir,” she smoothed out her apron. “I really want to go to the Culinary Institute of America and become a pastry chef. If I win this contest, that prize money will go toward my education and making that dream a reality. It would mean everything to me to win today.”      

  “Thank you, Miss Bowman,” the third judge, a woman who wore glasses and a grey suit, smiled and wrote something on her notecard. The judges moved on to finish the rest of the tasting. It seemed to take forever. There were so many contestants. Please let mine win.

***

“Here it is,” the announcer’s voice rang out. “The moment you’ve all been waiting for. The winner of Cal Expo’s Cake Baking Contest is…”

Say Charity. Please say Charity. I need this more than probably everyone in here. Say my name.

“It was a close one, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called. “But there can only be one winner today. Margaret Durst! Congratulations, you have won the $25,000 prize!”

The noise in the room faded as Charity felt her dream crumble in front of her. Grandma came up and held her. Tears flowed down her cheeks and her heart ached with the realization of her loss. It wasn’t just the money; it was her ticket to a great future. Now, her future would probably be working in that bakery forever, baking cakes for birthday parties and barely scraping by.

She pulled away and went to clean up her station, all the while wiping tears of frustration off her face. Just as she finished packing her supplies, the judge in the grey suit came up to her.

“Tough loss,” she moved her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “Your cake was delicious, though.”

“Thank you,” Charity whisked away a tear. “I did my best.”

“Well, your best is quite impressive. As I said, your cake was delicious. It was so flavorful; especially the frosting. The other judges couldn’t figure out what made it that distinct flavor, but I know exactly what it was. It’s because of the genius of adding that secret ingredient, and the fact that your cake came in second place, that I want to offer you a full scholarship to the Culinary Institute of America, California, of which I am the Dean. I see a lot of potential in you, Miss Bowman. I think you’ll make a wonderful addition to our school.”

"Are you serious?” her hand flew over her gaping mouth.

The judge leaned forward and whispered, “Serious as Saffron, Miss Bowman.”

“I can’t believe it; I’m going to be a pastry chef!” Charity waved at Grandma to come over. “Grandma, this is the Dean of the Culinary Institute of America in California. She’s giving me a scholarship to go to school there. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Well if you’re giving it,” Grandma smiled. “We’re taking it! Way to go Charity! And thank you so much, Dean…?”

“Dean Summers,” the judge shook her hand. “Wonderful to meet you both. You have a very talented granddaughter here. We’ll be happy to see her in the fall after she graduates. Congratulations, Miss Bowman.”

“Thank you so much,” now the tears in her eyes were tears of joy. She walked to the car with a spring in her step. Her dreams had come true, even though she lost. Her heart was full, and her future was bright. Someone must have been watching over her that day, and she knew just who it was. Thanks, Mom.